


Comfort in himself (but also in each other)

by id_ten_it



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mystrade Monday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: For Mystrade Monday 6 "I made a mistake".They've both made mistakes.Luckily they can forgive each other.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Comfort in himself (but also in each other)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello large fandom! You were so welcoming that I'm back with more and loving the challenge of a short and quickly-written fic.

_Really_ Mycroft grouched, firmly removing his hand from the ‘secret’ biscuit drawer, _it’s not worth getting this upset over._

Greg flipped two quid at the tin and grabbed a curly whirly with enough force to bend it. _I can’t believe I wasted last night on him._ The small crowd usually around the ref bar melted to their respective desks, coffee cups forgotten in their haste.

Anthea glided towards her superior, forcing her shoulders back. There were times to cow people, times to let them know exactly how unintelligent they were, but this was not that time. Someone would have to remind Mr Holmes of his power.

Greg wrestled futilely with the bright sweet wrapper, silently cursing his inability to do anything correctly.

“I hardly think I am to blame for others’ sudden realisation of incompetence.” Mr Holmes murmured, hands firmly clasped together. Anthea wondered if these…spats…would calm down once Mr Holmes finally replaced his ‘widower band’ with a wedding band.

_Finally_ Greg deployed office stationery to good use, scissors cutting through the wrapper and revealing the chocolate below. _See. That wasn’t so hard. You can do this, Greg._

“Today seems to be the day for realisations.” Anthea replied, neutrally.  
“Luckily there are no more meetings until this afternoon.” Mr Holmes responded, flicking a searching gaze at her.  
“Luckily.” Anthea withdrew to make arrangements.

Curly Whirly dispatched, Greg considered his next move. It was tempting to waste valuable police time composing a strongly worded email outlining in twelve simple steps why he was correct, but that didn’t sound quite as satisfying as outlining them in strongly-worded language in person. _Stubborn twat._

Mycroft fumed, silently and steadily. Nothing was right. He was getting a headache. The lights were too bright. His eyes were itchy. The coffee was all the way down the corridor and he didn’t want to speak with anyone. Tea – even an Assam – wasn’t strong enough to make up for a poor night’s sleep. _Idiot man. If he’d only got it right then we could have had a nice Wednesday night in._

Two hours of budget meetings later and Greg had more than a bad-nights-sleep headache. He also had a budget-induced headache, and the jitters from too much coffee. _Utter plonker_ he grouched _ruining last night_ and _this morning._

Having decided nothing would get done without coffee, Mycroft swept down the corridor. It amused him to see Anthea’s shock, and caused small satisfaction when others scurried before him as before an Arctic blast. “Good Morning Sir” chirruped one junior, trapped between the microwave and Mr Holmes, “I’ve just ground some beans.” He wriggled sideways with as much dignity as possible, telling himself it was ridiculous to behave like that in front of his boss. Mr Holmes put on his trousers the same way as everyone else _or at least his valet does_.

“Lunch, boss?” At Greg’s glower, Sally rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll bring you back a sandwich if you like?”  
“I’ve got something thanks.” Mycroft had handed over his lunch box with a sardonic eyebrow at Greg’s cricked neck. “Gunna eat outside. See you after.”  
“Might see you during. I’m going for a run since its fine.” Greg nodded, winced, rubbed at his neck, nodded again. _Bloody git_.

“Thank you.” The little wriggle the man made was eerily similar to the way Gregory shifted to let Mycroft into the bathroom to do his teeth. Something in the shoulders maybe? “Go ahead.” Benevolent Mr Holmes would cause a ruckus, but it was no less than they deserved after the morning he’d had. “I can wait.”  
“Oh. Um. Thank you Sir.”  
Yes. It was definitely in the shoulders. Mycroft nodded to himself, a plan forming.

_Okay. This is actually a really good sandwich_ Greg had to admit, peering at the layers of vegetables _Maybe he was right._ Then. _Damn. I can’t tell him that. He’s still mad about last night._

Paper-wrapped sandwiches in one pocket, umbrella swinging jauntily, Mycroft strolled down the embankment. He certainly was not in a hurry. Not at all anxious. He was calm. Just a man going for a short walk before enjoying his excellent, healthy, vegetable-filled, sandwich. Nothing more.

It was hard to hold onto the hard edge of betrayal when sitting in the sun eating a very delicious sandwich. The very act of eating relaxed him a little, softened the hard edge to a dull stone. A dull stone that twitched anxiously in his stomach when Mycroft came into sight.  
“I was wrong.” Mycroft nearly shouted, stretching out his stride and barely noticing the hustling public, “I’m sorry.”  
Shaking his head, Greg stood. “Me too. This is actually bloody delicious. Is it really good for me?”  
“Exceedingly.” Shyly, just outside his personal space, Mycroft stopped. “Could we start the movies again? Your way this time.”  
“Alright. Salad sandwiches together now. Star Wars tonight, starting with A New Hope.”  
Mycroft sat, withdrawing his sandwich. “Then a proper night’s sleep in a decent bed for us. I haven’t been this uncomfortable since the last time you made me sleep on the sofa.”  
Greg waggled his eyebrows, “You didn’t complain so much last time.”  
“Last time” Mycroft pointed out drily, “Neither of us planned for it to happen.”  
Greg laughed. “Eat your sandwich.”

When Sally ran back half an hour later, Greg was sitting alone on a bench, apparently staring at nothing. She nearly interrupted to comfort him, but on closer inspection, there was a small smile on his face, and he was tracking a man on the other side of the Thames. _Idiots in love_ Sally smiled _but it can’t be easy living with the British Government. Or Sherlock’s brother._ She shuddered to think what sort of things could trigger an argument in the Lestrade-Holmes house.  
“Alright Sal?” Greg stood as the figure disappeared, smiling easily. “Time for me to do some real work, eh?”  
“Didn’t want to say anything boss.” Grinning, the two of them headed inside.


End file.
